


Sleep With a Dying Sun

by clairza



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Aftermath, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairza/pseuds/clairza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want to scream. You are blurring at the edges. This is what hell feels like, burning and ice and darkness and the smell of death and immortality in your throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep With a Dying Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Aftermath of S2M43   
> 2nd person for ambiguity’s sake.  
> Unbetaed as I don’t have one for this fandom so all mistakes (including Aussie-isms) are my own.

It’s rare to return to Abel with anything other than bruises and blood, but this time you make it with only a few tiny pin-pricks in the crook of your left elbow. 

They undo you faster than anything else ever has.

*

The gates are barely shut behind you when you’re descended on; someone takes your headset, someone else takes your pack and Janine wraps a hand painfully tight around your forearm and marches you away. Within five minutes, you’re sitting in Abel’s hospital with a cuff around your upper arm and Maxine wiping your elbow with a low grade antiseptic. You know why. No matter what happened out there with Runner 3 and Runner 8, the word _traitor_ will hang over you until your blood comes back clean.

You’re waiting for the sting of the needle when Maxine’s grip tightens, and when you look at her, she’s staring at down at three livid puncture marks in matching circles of bruised skin.

“ _Five_ ,” she says, almost on an exhale.

You answer the question her face is asking before she can say a word, and it’s a relief to finally talk away from headsets and Sam and Sara and god,  _Jamie_ –  and you tell her everything; the injections, the dizziness, the treadmill, the pain; Van Ark’s hand, the smashing of the machine; everything you can think of, while Maxine takes blood until your vision vignettes in deep greys at the edges. 

Janine sits in the corner of the room, silent, shifting uncomfortably every time you mention Runner 8 or Runner 3, her good hand flexing into a fist on her knee. She won’t look at you. 

“Stay here,” Maxine says, when you’ve run out of words and blood that you can do without, and you want to laugh because it’s not like you have a choice. The curtains swish behind them both but you can see the shadows of at least two people outside. Your elbow aches. You grip the side of the bed, and stare down at your bare feet. Three of your toenails are black. You’ve never noticed before.

By the time Maxine returns, your legs have started trembling.  

“Your blood is clean of the ‘flu,” she says, but the relief in her voice is shot through with concern.  “The good news is that your blood work should give us some idea of what Van Ark has been doing, and what he’s intending to do.”

And what he’s done, you think. And by extension,  _Paula._

“What’s the  _but_ ,” you say finally, trying to force Maxine’s worried gaze away from where you are twisting your shaking fingers together.

“Five, your body is dealing with drugs I’ve never seen before and the adrenaline from the run home won’t have helped. I can’t give you anything because I don’t know what it will do when it’s mixed with whatever is in your system. I think –  Five, this could hurt. Really hurt.”

You nod. You’ve been through worse, you think.

Turns out, like so many things in this post-apocalyptic world, you were wrong.

*

You cannot stop shaking. Your veins are on fire. You have no idea how many hours have passed since Maxine left you but dawn seems impossibly far away.

There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to retreat, because in the darkness Sara is coughing, deep and horrible, Runner 3 is dying, someone is crying,  _I’ve done what is right,_ Van Ark is reaching for you and there is so much pain and you can’t breathe  _you can’t breathe_ - 

You want to scream. You are blurring at the edges. This is what hell feels like, burning and ice and darkness and the smell of death and immortality in your throat.

You don’t know Sam is in the room until he’s standing over your bed, his cool hands on your forehead. You open eyelids that feel like cement and try to focus on his pinched, worried face.

“God, Five,” he says. “What did he  _do_  to you?”

“’m okay,” you get out, but he isn’t listening or your voice wasn’t loud enough.

“I’m getting Maxine.”

“Don’t bother,” you say through clenched teeth. “She knows. I’ve just – got – to, to – ride this out.”  Pain slices through your body and you gasp, contract in on yourself. Your vision blurs. “Just – oh  _god_ \- hurts.”

You feel the cot mattress dip and he sits down carefully next to you. You curl around his hip instinctively. He is so warm. One hand slides into yours and you tighten your grip.

“There’s nothing she can give you?” Sam asks, and you’ve heard that tension is his voice many times before.  

“Can’t. She – doesn’t know – what – what it’ll do,” you get out, and your voice is cracking by the end.

Sam brushes your hair back from your face. His jaw is locked tight. “Can I do anything?”

Words are so hard but you force them out. “Could you – so cold, I just  - ”

He stands up and you desperately try to push more from your aching throat,  _please don’t leave me_ and  _I need you_ , but he’s just crossing round the bed, and the mattress dips again as he slides in behind you, wrapping himself around you as much as possible, his breath warm against your neck and his arm tight around your chest. You’re still shuddering, wracked with phantom pain, but his body is an anchor; you can tell where you finish and he begins, and that’s something.

“Talk to me,” you get out, and he does, as minutes trickle into an hour, then two; tells you stories of his school days –  _you should have seem him play rugby, Five, there was nobody worse_ , his family –  _my mother made the best mashed potato, she’d have won competitions for it,_  his dog –  _my sister got to name him and she called him Zeus – Zeus, this tiny little miniature dachshund, you’ve never seen anything so ridiculous_ , your time at Abel –  _you are so brave, Five, but I don’t know how many more times I can go though this, I just, I just can’t lose you_  - until his voice is dry and cracking at the edges.

Maxine checks on you twice; you feel her touch your temples and wrist with practiced hands, but Sam never lets you go. The third time she comes in, you hear their voices from a great distance, like you’re under water but the water is like jelly or quicksand or heavy blankets. ( _I’m not leaving. / I don’t want you to. It’s helping. / Yeah? / Heart rate has stabilised, which is good. How’s your arm?/_ A huff of laughter. _/ Can’t feel it. / Let me help._ )

You feel Sam move away and you try to hold on but your hand won’t move bar a tiny flex of your fingers but it turns out they are just rolling you over, and Sam’s pulling you into him until you’re tucked up against his chest, and then the curtain swishes shut again and it’s black and quiet. Sam hums a little, one hand moving up and down your body in long, languid strokes and your legs are tangled together. He’s still wearing shoes.

You’re spinning in lazy black circles, and you still feel hollow and empty, but you can hear Sam’s heartbeat though your cheek where it’s pressed into the crook of his neck.  An immeasurable amount of time later, you feel him exhale, feel his mouth press against your hairline, once, twice, unbearably gentle.  

“Five,” he says, low and his voice is raspy but so, so sweet. “I think I might love you.”  

You want to say something but it’s too hard to speak so you use up the last remaining shred of energy to press your mouth against his neck. He freezes for a second, and then his arms tighten around you. “Sleep,” he says. “I’ll be here.” 

And you do.

And when you wake up, he is.


End file.
